They struggled for a bit, and headed up toward the house. I can take a lot of things, but a man abusing a woman is not one of them. I broke into a run as the argument raged, but it was over before I got there.
Jack, drunk and stupid, lunged toward the woman who held a screwdriver that she was trying to use to cut the line. He fell, she stiffened, the screwdriver pierced flesh, and he died. That simple sniveling little hothead was dead. On the ground, oozing blood, lying still, and dead. And I still had no money.
I slowed to a walk and sidled up next to Becca while she stared at her ex-husband. “So,” I said to her, “it looks like you don’t need to cut the brakes.”
“What?” She looked at me with a look that crossed between confusion and fear.
“Don’t worry, I don’t plan on turning you in, as long as I get the money he owed me.”
“Money?”
“Yeah.” I pulled he close to me. “We can talk about that later. First, we need to get this car to a guy I know who’ll fix it without any records. That way when the police come around, it won’t look like you wanted to kill him.”
“It was an accident.” Her wide eyes pleaded with me, and held me.
“I know.” I turned her from the scene and walked her toward my car. “I just want to make sure the police see it the same way.”
“Oh,” she cleared her throat. “What can I call you?”
“For now, just call me alibi. We can worry about my real name later.” I handed her my phone. “Here, call 9-1-1 and get the ball rolling.”
It went as planned from there. She made the call, and I got my money before the cops got there. Fortunately, the right officers showed up, and the investigation was about as short as possible without drawing any undue attention.
I guess it did pay for me to get up that morning. It took me a long time, but I got my money. Still, I think my rule is a good one. I don’t get up unless money is waiting. Today, no money is scheduled to appear, so I’ll be staying in bed. Besides, Becca makes a mean mess of bacon and scrambled eggs, and I haven’t had breakfast in bed in months.
The Hit
This job is too damn bloody. I don’t mind the killing so much. It’s the cleaning that get to me. I mean if I wanted to be janitor, I could have a much easier life. Of course, I wouldn’t make as much money. Well, I haven’t been making that much lately anyway.
Maybe I should be a janitor. Cleaning up the puke from the kid who can’t handle the smell of school chili or enchiladas can’t be as bad as picking up the loose pieces of bone and mopping up the blood. Yeah, nothing great about another chunk of brain on the floor. I need to go back to school.
Yeah, right. What I need to do is find jobs that pay better. The job before this one was supposed to pay. Some stupid rich kid wanted me to off his girlfriend. Damn. I used to skip those things. I had this motion that I would be above it all. Only killing those that deserved it. Well, all this kid did was piss off some rich asshole who wanted to get some. And I killed her for not putting out. But, the kid offered to pay. I figured that since my seat on the plane to hell was reserved, it might as well be first class.
At least with jobs like that one, even if they are tough on the soul, they’re easy to execute. She just stood there staring at me. Even when I aimed the gun at her, she just stood there. I guess, alone in her kitchen, she just didn’t know what to do. No yelling. No struggle. Easy.
At least the killing part was. The delivery and payment were a little tougher. I should have known it would be a pain in the ass to deal with that little prick. When he called me to set up the hit, he kept stepping away for a minute. Stupid me, I thought he was taking care of business or something.
Well, when I got to him with the body, I learned who I was dealing with. I got near the house I was supposed to meet him at, and some jackass jumped out in front of my car. I hit my brakes, but I barely saw him before he flew out there and I hit him anyway. Now, it may seem stupid for someone like me to be worried about hurting someone, but I’m a professional, not some idiot into random violence.
When I got out, I saw a bunch of guys running toward me. At first, I thought I should pull my gun, but then I saw that one of them has a camera. “Oh, shit,” I was thinking at that point. I jumped back in the car and started to speed off when I saw the punk I hit jump from the ground and start laughing. Then I heared the voice. That little rat bastard’s voice.
“You little shit. You moron,” I yelled when I got out of the car. “I could’ve killed you.”
“Yeah, I guess you could have. It is your job.”
He laughed again. It sounded like a hyena, or a jackal, or something else from the zoo. All I could think of was getting paid and getting the hell away from the little idiot. “Where’s your house, I wanna get this in the garage and finish up.”
“What, you brought her here?”
A moron and no memory. Great. We had discussed this about four times when he first called me. I’m not sure if he was distracted or cashed then, but either way I had to explain the whole plan to him again. “Alright, now can we just finish our business?”
He nodded his head and pointed at an open garage. I pulled the land yacht I was driving that day into the car hole and the kid shut the door behind me. I opened the trunk as soon as I could, pulled the bag down to reveal the face, and waited for the reaction.
The kid puked like I knew the lightweight would. I thought about cleaning it up. Maybe I really should be a janitor. I just left it, though. “So, where’s the money?”
“Money? Yeah, well, here’s the thing.”
The thing is always that the money’s not there. I waited while the kid told me his sob story about his imprisoned dad and how his mom was shacked up with some dude who paid for the house. I didn’t care. The story kept going. One thing I know is, the longer the story, the less the money.
“Look, you don’t have the money. So, you gotta pay me some other way.” Other way my ass. I take cash and nothing else. But, when you know that no money’s coming, you gotta have some fun. “Drop your pants.”
“What?”
“You heard me,” I said. The kid was quaking. I mean he was mad, scared and freaked out all at the same time. Beautiful. “Look, I need something for my trouble, and you owe the bill.” I just stared at him, occasionally glancing down. The kid unbuttoned the top of his pants, the whole time just looking around at his friends who were in the garage too. “And, I want it taped. I’m keeping this one.”
The little punk waved for his friend to start filming. I couldn’t believe he was going to let me take him, in front of his friends, with the tape rolling. He must have really been scared. I’m amazed he didn’t piss on the floor. I almost wanted to string it out a little longer to enjoy it, but in the business you learn not to take too much pleasure in what you do.
Well, the kid dropped his jeans and bent over. I waved for the cameraman to zoom in and he did. Then, with every one of the little maniacs staring at their bud’s naked ass, I offed him. I pulled my Glock from my pocket and planted a bullet right in the back of his mullet head. It was clean, easy.
I turned to the friends, and none of them moved. They just stood there. The dude with the camera kept filming. I felt like such an agent of Darwin. These people needed to be selected out. I knocked them all off pretty quick and grabbed the camera.
I left after that. I thought about doing a big cleaning, but then I felt that that stupid mother didn’t sound like someone who needed to be spared the nasty job of cleaning blood and guts. I pulled out of the garage and looked for people who might have come out to check on all the commotion. Lucky for me it looked like people were used to crazy shit from the little Spielbergs.
I drove off, shut the garage behind me, and headed out to get rid of the body. Damn! I killed a cute kid so that fart knocker could save his pride. Lot of good it did him. I didn’t mind taking care of the film crew either, little psychos. There are enough crazy people out there without letting that band grow up
and reproduce. But the girl, that sucks.
I never thought I’d kill people that were okay folks. I mean, killing scum, that’s okay. But I’ve gone too far. And I don’t have any money. I think after I get rid of this kid, I’ll go get that job as a janitor. Maybe at a school. I have always been pretty good with the kids.
A Cheap Babysitter
Beth pulled into the handicap space near the entrance to Wal-Mart, placed the car in park and removed the key. After several seconds, the engine finally recognized that it had been turned off, and stopped rumbling. “Let’s go kids.” She stepped out of the car and looked about for a police officer that might ticket her for her use of the convenient parking. Satisfied, she helped the kids from the car and opened the trunk.
“Climb in kids, mommy needs to get some shopping done, and I can’t be chasing you brats all around the store.” She helped the two older children in, and placed the baby in after releasing her from the car seat. “Mommy’ll be back soon.” She shut the trunk and slung her purse over her shoulder.
She whistled to herself as she shopped. “Ooh. I bet little Jack would want this.” She pulled the Harley Davidson shirt from the rack and imagined her son with it on, along with his cap, sitting on Daddy’s Harley. She smiled and continued shopping. After buying formula, diapers, fudge pops for Mary, and the cough syrup that Jack liked, she felt a hand on her arm. She turned around and rolled her eyes. “What do you want, woman?”
“I walked passed your car on the way in and…”
“Why don’t you mind yo own business, lady. Nobody uses them parking spots anyways.”
“What? No, that’s not it. I heard something in your trunk.”
“Oh, that. That’s just my kids playin’. Sorry they bothered you.” Beth turned away and headed down an aisle. After only a few steps, she felt the hand on her again.
“Did you just lock your kids in that trunk?” Beth had seen similar expressions before on people who didn’t understand how she took care of her children.
“Yeah. They’re safe in there. No one’s gonna get ‘em.” She had to fight against laughing as the short woman looked up with her red face.
“That’s not the point, you horrible, horrible woman.”
“Back off bitch, they ain’t your kids.” Beth considered hitting the small annoyance on the head, but she hated people who resorted to violence to solve their problems.
“Well. they shouldn’t be yours either.”
“Go mind yo own business.” Beth turned away and ignored the yelling that continued. As she was browsing through the sports related t-shirts, she felt a hand on her arm.
“If you don’t go get those kids out of that trunk, I’m going to call the police.”
Beth sighed. “Go ahead. It don’t matter. They ain’t gonna do nothin’ about it. They my kids.” She turned away again, and resumed shopping.
‘We’ll see about that!”
Beth turned and saw the short woman walk off, clinching her fists. “Stupid little woman.” She raised her head to shout. “Mind yo own business!”
On the way to her car after checking out, she saw a police officer standing next to her car. Her first thought was that she really couldn’t afford the ticket for parking illegally right now, and that she would likely have her license suspended. She wasn’t worried about driving without it, but it would be a pain. She was relieved to see that he was looking in the trunk along with the short woman.
“Hi officer. Can I help you?” Beth put the groceries on the ground and reached for her keys.
“Ma’am, do you have an explanation for this?”
“Shoot. I do that all the time. It’s good for ‘em, don’t worry about kids.”
The officer grabbed her wrist, placed the handcuffs on her, and read her her rights. “Now, ma’am, I suggest you watch what you say.”
Beth struggled against the metal. “What’re you doin’, man. I ain’t done nothin’ wrong.”
“Ma’am, I have informed you of your right to remain silent. I suggest to exercise that right.”
She continued to struggle as the officer led her past the trunk. She looked in to say goodbye to her children. Her eyes widened when she saw the blood-soaked towels and stained carpet. She couldn’t look away from the sight of her children huddled around the carcass of some animal. She screamed and fell to her knees. “No! You gotta believe me. I didn’t do that.”
The officer picked her up and continued to pull her toward his car. “Sure, ma’am. You can explain it all down at the precinct.”
“But what about my kids?”
“They’ll be fine. Someone’s coming to take them to get cleaned up.”
“I want my kids. I live for my kids.”
“Of course you do, ma’am. Now get in the car.”
She sat there for half an hour, while the officer waited for a social worker to arrive and take the children. Beth cried into her hands, and cast glares and gestures at those who stopped to stare at her after looking in her trunk. She sat there, shaking her head, wondering how it all could’ve happened.
She looked up when the officer opened his door. “Alright, ma’am, we’re going now. Your kids’ll be fine.”
She looked out the window as she passed her car. She watched her children being helped out of the car, and they’re facing being wiped off. She looked to the social worker and her mouth fell open at the sight of the short woman. “You bitch, leave my kids alone.” She looked to the officer through the mirror. “Hey, that woman’s stealing my kids.”
“She’s a social worker, ma’am. She’s just doing her job.”
“You don’t understand. I saw that woman before I even went shopping. She said she’d take my kids, and now she is. You gotta stop her.”
“Settle down, ma’am. You can explain all of this to the judge when you get a chance.”
“Dammit!” She hit the window with the cuffs.
“Settle down, ma’am!”
She stared out the back glass as the children were led to the short woman’s car. She stared as the doors were shut, and the woman moved to the driver’s seat door. She stared as the woman opened the door, and laughed.
Reduced
The roof seemed lower. The arm rose slowly. He ducked within the confines of his compact car as he entered the garage. The lines squeezed closer than usual. He stepped out of the car slowly, sighing as he lifted his faded messenger bag, checking the frayed strap before swinging it over his back with a thump and staggering forward.
Turning the corner, he brushed against the cement pillar. Was it always this course? Squinting, he emerged into the sunlight, another day was about to begin. A day of RIFs. Reduction Force. Layoffs.
Would this be his last day?
Did he care?
Did he want to be let go?
Did he want to deal with staying?
Why hadn't he quit yet, exactly?
He left the questions behind as he stepped through the ponderous revolving door. Up the stairs. Around the corner. Past the bitter coffee. Quickly past the chatting section. Into his cube. Into his chair. Log in. Pretend to work.
A day like most. Perhaps the last. Hopefully the last?
He sighed.
Routine clicks and swipes of the worn and crumb filled mouse delivered the screen he had stared at for three days. Same data. Same formats. Wasn't due for another day or so. He couldn't remember when exactly. Didn't matter, it was done.
He thought about doing more every now and then, but that debate never lasted long.
In between useless scrolls left and right, he glanced down at his phone. Not the big black box that only delivered the occasional assignment. No. The small one that he still held out hope would deliver him from this malaise. He ordered it to ring.
It did. Did it really? It rang again.
"Hello, this is Keith."
"Yes, I am."
"Oh."
"Okay."
“Well, if they change their mind.”
“Su
re, sure. I understand.”
Keith hung up. Sighed. “Typical.”
He slumped in his chair until noon. Took lunch in the too gray, too bland cafeteria. Mixed a small rum he took from an airplane into his coke. Slipped into an unoccupied office. Slept until six. Shuffled back to his desk. Everyone gone. Except the boss.
“Oh well, I guess it’s this.
He grabbed a folder from a wire frame. Up from his desk, across the hall, he strode into the open door.
"You have a minute, Mr. Douglas?"
His boss nodded. Keith stepped in and shut the door behind him.
“I need the slip.”
Douglas typed. “Doesn’t work that way.”
Keith picked up a glass football with some pithy slogan. “I know. But still.”
Douglas shook his head. Still didn’t look up. “Oh, and you shouldn’t nap at work.” He snickered through his closed lips.
Keith tossed the football into his head. Stood. “Don’t you fucking talk to me that way, you arrogant prick!” He picked up a stapler and repeated.
“What the hell, Keith. You want to get fired?”
“No. RIF. The package.”
“No.”
Keith reached for the folder. Douglas flinched. Keith laughed. He opened the folder and tossed the papers on the desk.
“What’s this?”
“The stuff we didn’t give the OCC last audit.”
“Is this a threat?”
“Yeah, asshole. These are copies. I’ve taken all the originals home.”
“Son of a bitch.”
“Whatever. Package or I call.”
Douglas nodded. “Fine. Don’t come back.”
Keith smiled. “Wouldn’t dream of it.” He turned to leave.
He felt a pain in the back of his head before he hit the ground. Through a haze of white and black blobs he saw the polished shoes flashing past his head. He felt blows to his side and heard his ribs creak and crack with the assault.
Mayhem: A Collection of Stories Page 4